


The Definition of Trust

by heyfightme, Omgpieplease (SceneryTurnedWicked)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Dark Zimbits, Don't like severed limbs?, Fanart, Implied/Referenced Murder, M/M, Murder Husbands, Severed Arm Do Not Look, Sorry guys, You won't like this, halloween fic, not one bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 10:27:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12529260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyfightme/pseuds/heyfightme, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SceneryTurnedWicked/pseuds/Omgpieplease
Summary: “Alright, my handsome man. Let’s see what you’ve brought me.”“Most of it all’s out in the freezer already,” Jack informs him, prising the clasps on the cooler open, “but I thought I’d keep this bit fresh.”





	The Definition of Trust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heyfightme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyfightme/gifts), [onawingandaswear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onawingandaswear/gifts).



> Art by Omgpieplease  
> Words by Heyfightme.

Jack is starting to lose track of the number of people who have told him he and Bitty are made for each other, and yet each time still manages to send a thrill of pleasure up the entire length of his spine.  
He has been told that they are meant to be. A match made in heaven. Destined, from the start. Maple and pecan. Peaches and honey.

“Apple and sage.”

Jack replies with an enthusiastic hum, setting the cooler in his hand to the ground and shrugging out of his jacket. It could do with a trip to the cleaner; one too many roadies, one too many careless stains. For now, it goes over the back of a kitchen chair. Bitty pauses in his mincing, holding the knife aloft as he throws Jack a warm smile over his shoulder.  
“Thought it might be a nice celebration pie. The apples are good and fresh; I went picking this morning. Oh, and honey, the orchard had a lovely pumpkin patch, and I know it’s a tiny bit earlier than we usually do, but I just couldn’t resist.” Jack follows the line of the knife to where it’s directed along the kitchen bench. There is, indeed, a hefty-looking and brilliantly orange pumpkin waiting there, a blank canvas ripe for carving. Jack simply hums again, and crosses close enough to drop a kiss to Bitty’s cheek.

“Can you roast the seeds, the way you do?”

Bitty scoffs briefly, but cranes his head up, mouth searching. Jack gives him what he’s looking for, cupping a hand around Bitty’s jaw, and sidling in closer behind him as he presses their lips together. Jack is aware of the blade still in Bitty’s hand, and the cut of meat he’s almost cradling on the chopping board. The earthiness of the sage fills Jack’s nose, tinged also by the apples – a sharpness, almost sour to the scent. Along with the heady raw smell of the meat, and the warmth of Bitty’s blind-baked pastry case, not mention the taste of Bitty in his mouth and the long lines of Bitty’s back pressed up against his front, it sends more than one part of him growling with hunger.

He makes a noise, a gravelled push of a sound, and Bitty chuckles against his lips.  
“I’ll be done in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, sweetheart. You’ll be satisfied before you know it.”  
“I sure hope there’s a double meaning in that.” Jack leaves one last kiss on Bitty’s mouth before opening his eyes and drawing away. In trailing his hand from jaw to his shoulder as Bitty turns back to the shank on his chopping board, Jack catches sight of his soiled sleeve. A glance down at his person reveals it’s not the only part of the shirt he’s gotten stained.

“Ah, shit.” It’s not the first shirt, and by no means the worst stained, but Jack can’t help the mild exasperation.  
“What’ve you done?” Bitty asks it without looking back, re-dedicated as he is to slicing even pieces off the shank. His knife skills, as always, are deft and almost graceful. Jack, however, has things that require attention.  
“My shirt’s a fucking mess.”  
“There are always more shirts, Jack.” It comes as a sing-song as Bitty moves from slicing to dicing, chopping the meat fine enough to mix with the sage and apple pie filling he has already prepared. “Was the mess worth it?”  
“You tell me,” Jack teases, rolling his shirtsleeves up to his elbows and crossing back to the abandoned cooler. He scoops it up and crosses back to the kitchen counter just as Bitty is smoothing the combined meat-and-apple mix into the waiting pie case. Jack drums his fingers on the lid of the cooler, eyeing the offcuts from the shank as Bitty crimps the edges of his carefully-laid pie lid.

The pie gets tenderly deposited into the oven, and Bitty turns back to Jack with a wry expression as he wipes his hands on a dishcloth.  
“Alright, my handsome man. Let’s see what you’ve brought me.”  
“Most of it all’s out in the freezer already,” Jack informs him, prising the clasps on the cooler open, “but I thought I’d keep this bit fresh.”

Fresh is perhaps an understatement. As Jack opens the cooler and they both peer inside, he’s a little struck by how much the cut of meat has bled. It’s managed to produce a sizeable puddle, stark against the almost sterile plastic. It’s the watery residue of rested meat, not blood-thick, but near vibrant in its redness.

The meat itself is a finely-cut fillet, prime tenderloin, lean and with the skin intact should Bitty want to salt it for crackling.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Bitty breathes the endearment, reaching out with newly-clean hands to lift the meat from its box. He nearly cradles it, weighing the cut in his palms and testing the quality with trained fingers. “This is going to be gorgeous. I picked up some new potatoes at the market, and the rosemary has been coming in so nicely – I wanted to do a roast tomorrow night anyway, and this’ll be so much better than the lamb.” He settles the meat back down in its own juices, and holds his hands out gingerly as he rises on his toes to plant a kiss at the corner of Jack’s mouth. Jack finds himself turning into it, just briefly. The embers of warmth in his chest, the ones that Bitty is always able to stoke so easily, flare and send their heat to the back of his neck.

“Yeah, well, thought it was time I brought you a prime cut.”  
Bitty giggles, and raises an eyebrow as he shoots back, “You always give me that grade-A meat, honey.” He punctuates it with a slap to Jack’s ass as he crosses to the sink.

“It’s a nice lean loin, though. And thank you for leaving the skin – it’s been a while since we’ve had a clean one, huh? I’ll finally be able to try that crackling.”  
“That’s what I thought.” The warmth in Jack’s voice is an almost tangible thing, seeping into his smile as he leans against the counter and watches Bitty clean himself up.  
“I honestly thought that recipe was a lost cause, the way you boys like to mark yourselves up. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like your tattoos – and lord have you earned them – but that’s a non-issue, isn’t it?”  
Jack hums again in reply, reaching out idly to flatten the butcher paper the shank offcuts are still sitting on. Bitty turns back to him, wiping wet hands on his apron.

“So,” he begins, voice low and jokingly conspiratorial. Sly. Jack raises his eyebrows and folds his arms, attempting an air of impassive innocence. “Who is it?”  
Jack shakes his head, smile eking his canines into his bottom lip sharply. “Nuh-uh, you can’t get me that easily. Figure it out for yourself.”

Bitty’s humph is largely theatrical, and wholly familiar: it’s an immature game, sure, but one neither of them have ever tired of.  
“You know, at least last time you did me the courtesy of a real clue.” He gestures to the offcuts next to Jack, finger of the severed hand still bearing a Stanley Cup ring. It had been a little overly-dramatic, a little dramatically performative, but when the guy had actually been wearing his ring – well, leaving the hand attached and diamond-encrusted monstrosity in place had seemed too good to pass up. Bitty had laughed, anyway.

Having crossed back to the cooler to peer at the slab of meat inside, Bitty makes his own speculative hum.  
“You know, this is a thick cut. And like I said, still lean. There’s only a few boys I know who could make a loin like this.”  
Jack grunts non-committally and folds his arms. Undeterred, Bitty turns a shrewd look on him.  
There’s something hopeful glinting in the brown of his eyes.  
“Is this actually –?”  
“I’m going to stop you right there, Bits. For the last time, that is never going to happen. He’s the most recognizable player in the league. There’s tricky, and then there’s just stupid.”  
Bitty tsks in frustration, his eye-roll an almost palpable thing. Still, though, he sidles up to Jack and trails teasing fingers along the collar of his shirt, looking up through blond lashes.  
“I know you say that, honey, but don’t you want to know how that ass tastes?” He nips playfully at Jack’s chin, soothing the bite over with a lush press of lips. “Because I, for one, would love to know how that ass tastes.”

The pie has thirty minutes left in the oven. The tenderloin needs to be put in the fridge, ready for their dinner tomorrow. The hand and its ring need to be carefully disposed of. For now, though, Jack is content to fit Bitty’s body against his own, and kiss him with the right measure of roughness and tenderness, and let the richness of the cooking meat in the air coax him to being fully ravenous.

They are a team.

**Author's Note:**

> [Find this piece on tumblr!](https://omgpieplease.tumblr.com/post/166674348887/the-definition-of-trust-done-for-omgcpumpkins)
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> [Find Omgpieplease on Tumblr @Omgpieplease!](https://omgpieplease.tumblr.com/tagged/my-art)  
> [Find Heyfightme on Tumblr @Heyfightme!](http://heyfightme.tumblr.com/)


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